


Never Leave

by blagamuffin



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Bible verses, Established Relationship, Fluff, Life Affirming Sex, Love-Making, M/M, Ragnar being emotional, not just fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 06:31:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2722208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blagamuffin/pseuds/blagamuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ragnar finally has his priest back after months of fearing he has died. It's their first night back home. Can't believe he almost lost him. Ragnar doesn't fully believe it. Athelstan promises to never leave.</p><p>set around the finale of season 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Leave

**Author's Note:**

> I'm using a Bible verse in this story which also has a sex scene. If that makes you uncomfortable then I suggest you don't go further. Sorry.

“Tell me one of your stories Athelstan.” His deep voice whispered into the night air, a request for the younger man whose head was cradled by his bare chest with his dark curls tickling the Viking’s neck.

“Which one?” He asked sleepily as he buried his nose into the crook of his chest and arm, his words spoken more into the other man’s skin than anywhere else.

“The one with your God’s magic.” He teased as he brushed his lips against his pale forehead.  
“They were miracles Ragnar.” The Christian corrected with a tone of annoyance in his voice.

“Magic. Miracles. What’s the difference?” he asked with a shrug which unintentionally woke the younger man further. It was either that or his total lack of regard for his beliefs. Athelstan thinks both, but he was much too tired to argue.

Pushing against the firm chest, the younger man raises his head to face his bedmate and asked exasperated “Which one would you like to hear? The one where he fed his people with only a few loaves of bread and a couple of pieces of fish? The one where he stopped the storm with a just a wave of his hand? Or maybe the one where he turned water into wine?” he said the last option with a playful smirk, remembering the Viking the first time he told the tale of how to do so and if it could be done to make ale.

“No,” he answered softly as a hand came up to brush the delicate shape of the Englishman’s lips. “The one of the sick servant…” he added with almost a sad tone. “…and the pleading master.” He finished, his eyes finally meeting his.

Athelstan looks at Ragnar with squinted eyes. He knew the difference of when the Viking was teasing him or engaging him. This had none of that. Ragnar, with all his power both politically in their land as well as on the battlefield, looked at Athelstan with a worried expression. He almost looked frightened. That looked made the younger man’s throat tightened, almost enough to keep him from telling the story. Almost.

“One day, as Jesus entered Capernaum, a centurion soldier approached him and appealed to him saying; ‘Lord, my servant is lying at home paralyzed and suffering dreadfully’. Jesus replies to the soldier ‘I will come and cure him’ but the centurion replies ‘Lord, I am not worthy to have you enter under my roof. Only say the word and my servant will be healed’. Moved by the soldier’s faith Jesus says unto him ‘I say to you, I have found none with such faith as you. You may go. You have believed and let it be done.’ On that hour the servant was healed.”

Mysterious ocean blue eyes met worried blue of the sky the whole while the younger man spoke. They did not break eye contact over the whole tale. It felt very much like a spell over Athelstan, the way Ragnar’s eyes called to him.

The first time Athelstan met those eyes they were filled with rage, much like an ocean storm. He remembers growing up staring into storms out into the sea being very much frightened but forever drawn. Athelstan thinks he has always seen Ragnar’s eyes, even before they had met. It was only when they did when Athelstan was drawn to who rather than where.

The spell was finally broken as Ragnar brushed his thumb higher against the young man’s face; from his bow lips, his cheeks, his eyelids back down to his jaw and finally by his neck. He grasped the other man close to him. His fingers tangled into the dark curls at the nape. His thumb softly brushing the fluttering pulse.

Athelstan was about to voice his worry when the Viking finally spoke.

“When I left you there. I feared I would lose you to your people.” His voice strained with emotion. “When Horik said you had betrayed him. I didn’t believe him. I knew you never would.” His fingers through his hair tightened. “…But when Horik said you were dead. I… I thought I would have rather you would betray me and lived than be alone and dead.” His eyes finally darted away in shame.

“To die in battle is the greatest of honours among us.” He explained. “But selfishly, I couldn’t let that happen to you. I couldn’t… I couldn’t lose you Athelstan.”

“You haven’t.”

“But I almost did.” He replied finally looking him at the eye, revealing the tears that threatened to spill from them. His hand left the other man’s neck, took the younger man’s hand and pressed it further against his chest, revealing his thumping heartbeat. “It pained me. The thought of losing you pained me… I wanted to swim all the way back to fetch you. I wanted to rage against all those who left you behind… I would do anything for you Athelstan. Anything to keep you alive. Anything… Even if it meant pleading to your God.” He added with a bit of sad mirth.

The younger man finally smiles. “The great Ragnar Lothbrok, kneeling in front of Jesus, the son of God nailed to a cross.” He teases but the strain of his throat revealing the emotions to what Ragnar had said.

The Viking laced their fingers against his chest and looked into his eyes with deep purpose. “I am not worthy to keep you…” he says before he brings their joined hands against his lips for a kiss. “But only say the word…”

“Yours.” Athelstan interrupted the Viking who now looked at him in awe. “I am your Ragnar Lothbrok… Always.” And with that he pushed their joined hands off and surged at the older man with a deep and passionate kiss. Their hands never letting go.

Pale legs draped over strong thighs and began straddling the older man beneath him as his other hand found their way into dark blond locks to pull at bringing their lips impossibly closer. With a firm grip on that pale hip, the stronger of the two flips them over to be on top of the Englishman and to have himself be cradled between milky soft thighs.

What started out as frantic meeting of lips now grew into a deep battle between tongue and mouth. Hands now free from one another to explore each other’s bodies. Ragnar’s strong tan fingers playing with the pebble hard peaks of Athelstan’s pink nipples. Athelstan arches towards the onslaught as his fingers dug deeply into blond locks as he took control of the kiss, baring his neck and pushing his lover to possessively mark him as his. All this as he opened his legs even wider to accommodate the Viking to where he belonged.

Athelstan doesn’t remember it being like this. Before they were separated their joining were always a little rough and a little playful. Even when Ragnar took his time it was always with a teasing grin on his face. Earlier in the evening he saw that during their first coupling after months of separation.

But now, now that the initial desperation sated, Athelstan feels the difference. Ragnar was still strength and passion but now he in place of that eagerness was delicate movement on top of him; fingers to his nipples and gentle brushing of his soft stomach, wet open-mouth kisses where his neck and shoulder met, and a hand beneath his knee lifting his legs high on broad shoulders to open him further.

Smouldering hot hardness met his wet soft opening. He was still leaking from earlier. He was stretched out and ready. He was warm and welcoming and deep in the younger man’s head he hopes to always will be and be welcomed in return.

Ragnar pushes himself inside his lover. He feels himself plunging into heat and surrounded by unbearable tightness. How he feels such a feeling of home with a man he met so far from it he will never understand. But he thanks all of the God’s, even Athelstan’s, that he’s found him. Ragnar looks at the man beneath him; pink bow lips open and gasping, his neck littered with redness. There were months he never thought he’d see such a sight again. Athelstan was beautiful.

He thrust deep into him and waited. Warm walls spasmed around him begging, but he will wait, painfully if he had to. Light blue eyes met his as a delicate hand wipes the sweat from his brow.

“Take me.” He says with a breathy moan as he tightened around him even more. “I’m yours.”

And with that Ragnar kissed him deeply as he pulled out and pushed right back in. The feeling was glorious; hot, wet, tight, open. Ragnar moved slowly, trying to savour the feeling. Athelstan locked his legs around his hips and met every thrust. They moved as one; thrusting, grasping, kissing. They pushed and pulled wanting to be closer and closer. Not wanting to feel that emptiness being away from one another ever again.

Pale white fingers dig into a muscular back. Nails leaving streaks down tan skin. Athelstan grasps at Ragnar like a man drowning. He was drowning in the passion, drowning in the moaning and gasping, drowning in the intoxicating feeling of skin against skin.

As Athelstan drowned, Ragnar got lost into the movement. Ragnar’s hips moved faster and faster. He got lost in the tightness and the heat. Mouth open loudly moaning and begging. Insistent hands leaving marks against his skin. Ragnar looks down and marvels at the sight. He’s close. He can’t be this close to his lover and not be close to cumming. His eyes going lower and lower as he sees Athelstan’s hard pink cock laying against his soft white belly. The tip weeping with pre-cum. With one arm supporting his weight Ragnar reaches with his other to grasp the thickening prick in his hand and begins to move. It only took a few twists of the wrist until his lover spilled all over himself.

Athelstan screams both in relief and in frustration. He was on the very edge of himself and he could feel Ragnar losing it as well. He needed it. He needed to feel Ragnar fill him and mark him his from the inside out. He needs to be filled to the brim of him so no matter how long they have away from each other or no matter how far he’s always inside him. These thoughts scared Athelstan. They should have made him feel shameful to feel just a desire to be filled with the other man’s seed. But it couldn’t be helped. He had cum but he wouldn’t be fully satisfied until Ragnar did so as well deep inside of him.

“Ragner, please…” he begged. He feels him thrust faster and deeper into him. “Ragnar…” he tightens around him even more, making the man above him close his eyes, grit his teeth and grunt.

Athelstan reaches out to touch his faces, making him look right at him. “Ragnar… I’m right here… Please… make me yours.”

Ragnar cums and floods his lover. He can’t stop thrusting until ever drop is milked out of him. Lazy and softening thrust as he began to sink over the younger man’s body. He was much heavier and broader but he knew Athelstan beneath him and that’s where he belonged.

Hands and fingers ran through his blond hair as he hears a soft voice against his ear comforting him. “Shhh… I’m right here. I’m not leaving. Not ever again.”

He falls asleep with those promises finally calming him into rest.


End file.
